


‘Tis the Season

by chvystiel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chvystiel/pseuds/chvystiel
Summary: In a cozy bookshop on Christmas Eve, an angel and a demon profess their love for one another.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	‘Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoe-icky-sucky-hara](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shoe-icky-sucky-hara).



> This is my gift to shoe-icky-sucky-hara, hope you like it! Loved participating in this gift swap, this fandom is so wonderful and kind.

It is Christmas Eve and Aziraphale is tucked away in a corner of the bookshop, nose buried in his newest find that he’d procured just the other day. His glasses are far down on his nose as he reads and he keeps catching himself holding the book closer and closer to his face, as if that will aid in the process of being obtaining knowledge. The bell above the door jingles and his head shoots up, after all, he is expecting someone. The figure who steps inside is unfortunately less red-haired than the one he is waiting for. 

“Are you still open?” The man calls across the shop as soon as he spots Aziraphale.

Aziraphale gets up with a start, “No!” he exclaims and the man jumps. “Can’t you bloody read? The sign is on the door for a reason!”

“I-uh-“ the man stutters and ducks his head around the door to read the ‘closed’ sign. “Right, sorry! Er-why keep the door unlocked?”

“None of your business, now out!” Aziraphale says, huffing angrily as he walks towards the man. 

The man rushes out the door and down the street. Aziraphale catches the door just before it closes, “And we’re closed tomorrow as well! Merry Christmas!”

He shuts the door with another huff and goes back to his reading. Just as he takes his seat he hears another voice. This one brings a much warmer response.

“Hello, angel,” says Crowley who’s leaning in the doorway. 

Aziraphale sighs with delight and all the anger evaporates. “Crowley.” 

The demon grins. He struts towards the couch and takes off his jacket, slinging it over the back of the furniture, before plopping himself down.

“How was your day, dear? asks Aziraphale, placing the book back in its place. 

Crowley flicks his hand and the fireplace ignites with a whoosh, “Ah the usual, sorry I’m late by the way. I really did mean to be here earlier.” 

“‘‘Tis the season,” says Aziraphale. He disappears around the corner for a second before reappearing with two mugs. He places the hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of Crowley. He stares down at it, eyes squinting. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley says.

“I’m afraid it’s gone cold,” says Aziraphale.

Crowley leans forward, only inches away from the two mugs. He blows gently over them and swirls of steam begin to rise from the liquid. He glances up at Aziraphale; the angel is positively beaming and Crowley can’t help but feel a little heat rise to his cheeks.

“Perfect,” says Aziraphale. “Now, I’ve spent a great deal of time perfecting this recipe, so gentle criticism is appreciated.”

Crowley reaches forward and brings the steaming liquid to his lips and sips gingerly. Aziraphale watches intently, leaning forward ever so slightly, hands clasped together around his stomach.

“Oh!” Crowley gasps and Aziraphale jumps a little. 

“Are you all right? Too hot?” 

“Oh,” Crowley repeats. “Angel, this is magnificent. You’ve put the Mayans to shame.” He takes another gulp and grins.

Aziraphale smiles softly, “Thank you, dear. I knew you’d enjoy it.”

The two had finally settled in for the holiday at the very last minute. December had always been a busy time for the two of them. This year Crowley had managed to finalize just under a dozen divorces, while Aziraphale had his hands full with hospital patients who were sure not to survive the remainder of the year. As couples screamed at each other with lawyers at their sides, families held hands and wept as their loved ones rose from otherwise dire circumstances. 

Crowley and Aziraphale decided to finish their remaining assignments earlier than usual so they would have at least a few days off to enjoy the merriness this time of year brings. Although it was mostly the angel tempting the demon to a night in, away from all the crowded pubs and traffic filled streets. The snow began to drift downwards around noon and was now falling in large flakes outside of the bookshop; a fresh, white blanket perfect for tomorrow morning. 

Inside, the fireplace filled the shop with its glowing warmth as Christmas carols played from an old record in the corner. Aziraphale finished decorating the Christmas tree earlier that day, just in time for the evening. It’s lights sparkle and glow through the fogged glass and out onto the street, creating a splendid design on the snow floor. Aziraphale always felt strange putting an angel atop the tree and instead opted for a beautiful, golden star. There were no presents underneath it’s branches, but the two had never exchanged gifts before. After all, they did so throughout the rest of the year as they helped one another with miracles and temptations here and there. 

Aziraphale sits down beside Crowley, his own mug of hot chocolate between his hands. It feels good to be off his feet and he sinks into his seat with a smile on his lips. He sips his drink, eyes wandering around the bookshop. Everything gleams and glows with red and green. He sighs.

Crowley quirks his brow and looks over at the angel, “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Aziraphale says. “It’s just—wonderful, isn’t it?”

The demon’s face remains puzzled.

Aziraphale lazily rolls his eyes, “Christmas I mean… isn’t Christmas wonderful? The beautiful snow, the anticipation of children all around the world as they drift off to sleep this evening, families coming together to spend time laughing and joking with one another—“

“Yes, yes,” Crowley waves a hand. “But aren’t the holidays a bit… overrated?”

Aziraphale’s face is frozen in disbelief and shock. Crowley can’t be serious.

“C’mon, don’t look at me like that,” says Crowley. He sits a little more upright as he explains, “This ‘true spirit of Christmas’ is just a great bunch of advertising. If you ask me, that cheery, joyous, ol’ merry feeling is all manufactured.” He sets down his hot chocolate and takes off his glasses. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, rolling his eyes back to meet Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale shakes his head and even though he can feel heat rising to his cheeks, his voice doesn’t shake. “You are wrong, Crowley. No matter what one does during this season, one can’t help but feel a least a little joy.” He pauses and forces himself to meet Crowley’s yellow gaze. “Even you.” 

When Crowley wears his glasses, it never really feels like he’s looking right at Aziraphale. There’s an air of indifference that allows the angel to focus on what Crowley’s actually saying at the time. It’s casual and easy. But with the glasses off, there’s no denying the profound emotion Aziraphale has for Crowley. Although it would be awfully hard to focus, Aziraphale desperately wishes Crowley would leave the glasses off more often.

Aziraphale clears his throat and breaks eye contact again. It’s all getting a bit much. “You can’t change my mind,” he says, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

Crowley smirks, “I’m sorry if I offended you angel, I just think the whole thing is all a bit rubbish.” The demon sinks impossibly lower in his seat, his knee brushing Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale tries not to move, savoring the casual touch. He listens to the carols as they echo around the room, humming along.

“Aziraphale?” says Crowley. This time he purposely touches the angel, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s thigh. It’s just above the angel’s knee, yet Aziraphale swallows thickly and focuses harder on the lyrics playing. 

Crowley finishes his hot chocolate with one last gulp, setting the mug down a little roughly, and says, “All right, all right. You win.”

Aziraphale stops his humming as Crowley continues, “If I had to pick one thing, just one little thing that I maybe, possibly, could perhaps enjoy on occasion… well I guess it’d be…”

“Yes?” Aziraphale asks, eyebrows raised. He’s given in and turned to face the demon again. 

Crowley falters, barely noticeable. His mouth hangs open for half a second before he raises his empty mug. “This hot chocolate you’ve made. I loved it! It was so delicious that I’ve already finished mine. How ‘bout that?”

Aziraphale can’t help but feel the corner of his mouth tugging upwards at the compliment, even if it feels like Crowley didn’t really say what he meant to. Or what Azriaphale wanted to hear. Though the words that don’t quite make it past Crowley’s lips are the same that are dry on Aziraphale’s tongue. It’s all a bit hypocritical. 

“And,” Crowley continues, shifting his weight towards Aziraphale, hand still heavy on the angel’s thigh, “I always like the bookshop. It’s comforting being here on this couch, listening to the records, warm and toasty by the fire.” He laughs to himself and Aziraphale can feel his smile growing. Crowley sighs. “Familiarity I suppose,” he says. 

Aziraphale’s breath is a little tighter in his lungs and his face feels like hellfire. It’s almost as if his heart will burst and shatter all at once. Whenever he’s with Crowley it feels like the end of the world in the most spectacular way. 

“Truthfully,” says Crowley. “The absolute best part of Christmas... is being with you.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand in his own, pulling the angel closer. They’re nearly chest to chest and there’s no where to look but straight into Crowley’s eyes. 

“My dear,” whispers Aziraphale. 

“It feels silly now that I’m saying it out loud,” says Crowley. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, “I understand completely.”

Six thousand years is an awfully long time to love someone and yet they’ve both achieved it, almost flawlessly but always passionately. To have something unspoken sit on your tongue for that many years is more than enough to drive any person mad. They both knew of course, but it wasn’t as though they were afraid to speak it into existence, it was that there was simply no need to. It was established long, long ago on a very important wall surrounding a very important garden; reinforced through favours and dinners and stolen glances and absentminded intimacy. The brilliance of it all was that for both of them, it never felt like it was prewritten or scribed into destiny. Their love had always felt like a choice, one that they made again and again forever. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, sitting upright and reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a silver band and holds it between his fingertips. 

Aziraphale bursts out with laughter and for a moment confusion and embarrassment flicker across Crowley’s face. Then Aziraphale reaches into his own pocket to retrieve a nearly identical ring. Crowley throws his head back and laughs with the angel. 

“Well, it’s as if you read my mind, angel,” Crowley says. 

Aziraphale wipes a tear from his eye. “Humans truly have the funniest way of doing things sometimes, but I’ve always admired them for this.” 

Crowley’s yellow eyes are glistening and for a moment Aziraphale believes it to be a trick of the light, but when he leans in to kiss the demon he feels the wetness on his own cheeks. Or maybe that’s just his tears. Or both. They slip the rings on each other’s fingers, eyes still closed and lips still pressed together. It’s as if the last piece of a six thousand year puzzle has just slid into place. Warmth washes over both of them. Crowley has his hands buried in Aziraphale’s shirt, tugging him closer. The angel’s arms wrap around Crowley, breathing in the demon’s scent. The angel slides his hand down Crowley’s back and pulls the demon into his lap. Crowley‘s breath hitches as he willingly climbs atop the angel. They kiss deeply, hand slides over each other not wanting to break apart. Oh, if just to stay exactly like this, perfectly intertwined for the rest of eternity and beyond.

Eventually they do break the kiss. Crowley untangles himself from Aziraphale sits beside the angel again. 

“Well, that’s been a long time coming, eh?” Crowley grins. 

Aziraphale takes the demon’s hand and kisses his ring finger. “Too long.” 

The chimes of midnight begin to echo into the bookshop from outside. Crowley drapes his arm around Aziraphale who rests into the embrace. His head tucked neatly under Crowley’s chin, they both sit and listen to the chimes. Aziraphale turns and stretches to meet Crowley’s lips once again. 

“Merry Christmas, dear.”

“Merry Christmas, angel.”


End file.
